


(Blue) Thinking About You

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Intersex Jotunn (Marvel), Jealousy, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Thor, M/M, Mating Bites, Possessive Behavior, Pseudo-Incest, Thor What If canon divergence, Thorki Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: Is it jealousy or yearning that Thor feels—Loki does not care, for Thor will only ever be his.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 198
Collections: Thorki Secret Santa 2019





	(Blue) Thinking About You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maharlika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/gifts).



> This is my gift for the Thorki Secret Santa 2019 for the prompt of Jotun Thor/Jotun Loki
> 
> This story was inspired by snackage's [Kiss Day Jotun Thorki art](https://twitter.com/riringo/status/1131790503324848128?s=09), which I completely adore!!  
> Thus, I opted to give Loki mostly an oriental/harem style in his formal clothes - a lot of [sarongs](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1QCksO7voK1RjSZPfq6xPKFXa5/Royal-Blue-Belly-Dance-Skirts-Oriental-Double-High-Slits-Belly-Dance-Costume-Skirt-For-Women-Skirt.jpg), [pantaloons](https://i.etsystatic.com/19171846/r/il/e0cab9/1813731783/il_570xN.1813731783_5dt8.jpg) [++](https://www.atlantabellydance.com/Overview/pictures/JoshuaWeb.jpg) and [skirts](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/61DjMbKG9eL._UX385_.jpg) [++](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0/f2/albu/g7/M01/65/9B/rBVaSVqc4nyADq7QAAF8y1NwneI126.jpg) are mentioned.
> 
> Enjoy ✨🎄

The delegation from Asgard is everything Loki has ever heard they would be and nothing alike it at the same time. 

They stand in Utgardr’s grand icy halls like specks of colour in an otherwise monochrome environment; dressed in their longest and thickest furs, with their bound or braided hair and their creepy eyes they are a cacophony of colours – yellow and red and green and brown– assaulting to Loki’s sight as much as it fascinates his intelligence, tickling this inherent streak of curiosity that has always resided in him. They come in absolute contrast with the gray of the restless fog captured inside the glacial gigantic azure walls of the palace, the black and white stone floors and pillars. 

Crimson red eyes watch carefully from the sidelines, take in the visitors’ discreet fidgeting, the light tremors caused by the low temperature that, no matter the weight and thickness of their furs, manages to sneak under the flaps and through every possible crevice to find home on their frail and pink flesh. Loki watches as Thor struts to stand two steps behind Laufey-King and his sons; sees the way his strong jaw tightens and his Jötun red eyes turn harsh when they land upon the outworlders – more so when they meet with the leader of the dignitaries; Asgard’s Prince, Baldr the Beloved.

Baldr is tall, nearly Loki’s height, with brown hair that come to his shoulders and eyes the colour of Jötun flesh – like Thor’s had been before his wielding of the Ice Crusher in his teens – his body is worked, broad and shaped in that of a warrior. Clearly enough, Baldr bears an uncanny resemblance to his blood-brother. 

Loki wonders, fleetingly, if the cause for his adopted brother’s annoyance is the fact that Baldr, Thor’s biological younger brother, is to be King of the fallen kingdom one day soon instead of Thor or if he is filled with memories of his past. Remorse, perhaps, for giving up his freedom for his people to have a better chance in a future not as bloody as their past and getting himself landed right in the centre of Jötunheim’s feudal system; a tool and a mighty weapon for Laufey-King’s vices.

Does Thor want to ask of their Queen Mother’s well-being? Does he miss anything from his past life? Is he jealous of the life Baldr has had among their people while he had to grow in a realm that’s as cold as the creatures living in it?

The smile the Aesir Prince sends Thor’s way is met with disdain and Loki feels a thrill at the way Thor’s fingers twitch in annoyance and barely concealed ire, distinctly unhappy to meet his blood-brother after all these centuries. Stretching in a satisfied smile, Loki’s dark blue lips pull on his face. He tilts his head up and enters the room, walking to stand beside his Father and Brothers. 

Is it jealousy or yearning that Thor feels, Loki does not care – for Thor will only ever be his.

* * *

The meeting does go exactly as Loki has expected it to go. His Father, the King, confronts the gentle pleas of the Aesir Prince with mild disinterest. Looks down at him and the delegation from his high crystalline throne and makes no attempts to know more of the ways they try to survive. He does _allow_ them to occupy an hour of his precious time, however, before he adjourns the meeting for another day. Laufey-King doesn’t say when or where, he only motions for his servants to show his _guests_ the way to their quarters and gets up from his throne to exit the room before any of them.

Loki, swift and shapeless like the restless shadows residing in the planes and crevices of the Palace of Ice and Stone, has blend in among them by now. He flees down the corridors and goes to wait inside Thor’s rooms for the Head of the Guard’s return. He lies back on the bed, crossing his legs at the ankles and starts nibbling on little preserved delicacies he conjures with a whirl of seidr. 

Heavy and hurried are Thor’s steps when he makes his way down the corridor, their thumping on the stone floor resounding all the way to his rooms at the very end of it. A wide palm thumps against the thick frosted crystal of the door, making it seem as if it weighs nothing in the way Thor throws it open. He doesn’t appear to be the tiniest bit surprised to find Loki in his rooms, relaxed and reclining on the furs of his bed. 

Thor’s broad blue shoulders are tense, muscles wound up tight under his unmarked skin when he takes off his dark half-cape of fur, pulling with such force at the straps of leather binding his firm torso that Loki is amazed to not find them snapping under his rough fingers. His sunny hair is in disarray on top of his head, a snow lion’s mane, and his full lips are pulled in a frown beneath his bristles. Annoyance bleeds strong through his red eyes when he catches Loki salaciously smirking up at him.

“You’ve dressed in your finery to impress those savages,” Thor grunts, standing at the end of his bed, hands pressed into fists over his hips. “You wanted to look nice for those sniveling beggars,” he accuses, taking in the way Loki’s black sarong splits at one side to reveal one long leg from the tips of his bejeweled toes and ankle all the way to his hip. 

“What if I did?” Loki shrugs, pushing a wisp of long, black hair over his shoulder, an eyebrow arching challengingly on his face. The sound of Thor’s teeth grinding is audible to Loki’s ears. It renders him unable to hold back the snicker that bubbles in his throat. 

“Do not think me as dull to not have noticed the satisfaction hidden behind your smile when their eyes, oh-so-lecherously, dragged from your horns to your hair, to your face and body.” 

Loki doesn’t reply, stocking the fire of Thor’s ire even more. He simply smiles, teasing and knowing.

The growl coming from Thor then is loud, animalistic, the grip of his hand on Loki’s bangled ankle quick and tight as he pulls him down the furs, making Loki yelp in delighted surprise. The bowl of delicacies gets upturned by a flailing hand and his foot is dropped to fall on the stone of the floor with a slap of his instep. The cold permeates the gold of his toe-rings, crawls up his skin, igniting a light shiver to run through his body. 

As Thor watches, Loki pulls his other foot to bend atop the bed, opening the flap of his skirt further, but tilting his leg just so he won’t allow Thor the full view of his wet cunt or cock that already stands in half-hard attendance. No, Thor hasn’t earned that right, yet.

Thor breathes through flaring nostrils, works his jaw right and left as he takes in the Prince before him; as Loki slowly stretches his arms over his head, the fingers of one hand caressing over the heritage lines and gold armband and bracelets littering the expanse of his arm; as he starts playing with the dangling jewels of his golden circlet that came off in his descend upon the furs; as they tangle in hair that mirror a dark river upon the gray of the furs. 

Loki knows just how good the gold wrapped around his little horns and dangles in the shape of thick drops from his ears looks, how the golden waistband fastening his sarong in place around his waist comes in contrast with the blue of his lower torso. His tummy flutters in satisfaction when he sees Thor’s darkening look land on his belly button peeking between the unevenly wrapped sash. Loki makes a sound of approval and lowers one hand on his belly, starts caressing the piercing on his naval under Thor’s dark and bewitched stare.

“Do not tempt me, little brother,” Thor bites out and Loki visibly shivers under the power of his gaze. 

The smirk on his face widens, “Or else?” he purrs, foot cold from the stone of the floor dragging up against Thor’s calf slowly, seducingly. He sees Thor’s fists clench and flex, the edge of his jaw ticking, the tendons of his neck coming in fluttering sight.

“ _Don’t, Loki_ ,” he growls, barely holding back and what makes it better is that Loki can _clearly_ see it – he can see the struggle Thor has to put to hold tight on his ancient beliefs, on his perpetual rejection of Loki’s affections. He can see it and he _thrives_ in it. 

Oh, how much Thor wants him. If only he’d let go for a single minute, Loki would show him how good it could be for both of them. 

“We’ve talked about this. You are like a sibling to me; you are a Prince and Lauf–!” Thor’s angry rant gets cut off by Loki swiftly manhandling him on the bed with a leg behind Thor’s broad back and the other behind a knee. He tumbles them on the furs, coming to comfortably perch upon Thor’s lap, hands over Thor’s massive breasts to hold him from moving.

“And _I’ve_ told _you_ before,” Loki purrs, grinding down on Thor as he leans to hover above him and talk in his ear, “you are a fool for denying me _._ ” 

Sharp fangs pinch roughly on the lobe of Thor’s ear, making him groan. Loki pulls back and looks down at him, swiping his dark tongue over the droplet of blood embellishing his lips like a rubby would.

“Be sure to not miss out on dinner, _brother_.” Loki says, his eyes taking on that mischievous glint and he laughs as Thor lets out a sound that’s more animal than not as he tries to hold onto Loki’s waist to append him. 

Loki vanishes into thin air before he is successful, blending with the fog cast inside the walls of the icy palace, leaving behind the sound of his mocking laugh to keep Thor company as he is suddenly left alone and incited upon his bed of furs.

* * *

The dinner hall is quiet when Loki, cloaked under invisibility, strides his way inside. The light sconces on the walls burn their azure flames, vibrant enough to not hurt the Jötnar’s eyes, but their guests seem to be having problems adjusting to the low light of the room, squirming in their too-big seats and squinting down at the platters of food being set on the table. They are speaking quietly among them, letting their Prince take shots at engaging the Frost Giants in any topic of conversation he can come up with. Until now, Baldr the Beloved has failed _spectacularly_ in getting anywhere close to even being _‘begrudgingly liked’_ by any of his targets.

Loki is starting to wonder on the integrity of the nicknamed title. Certainly a creature so dull and awkward cannot be successful in conquering the hearts of an entire people, no matter how special his social standing and backstory might make him.

He watches in pain from the sidelines as Baldr finishes off what seems to be the third tasteless joke in as many minutes with a loud guffaw of his own and a hopeful smile that quickly turns upended when he finds his ‘conversation’ partner clearly not participating in the Prince’s good humour. It’s really a pitiful sight – it almost makes Loki feel bad for him. _Almost_.

The servants scurry around the people lazily filling the hall, sparing only quick glances at the visitors in their haste to have everything set out before the King’s entrance. Loki moves out of their way with half a mind, keeping his eyes on the young godling making a fool of himself at any Jötun that might have the misfortune of standing near enough for him to strike up conversation. Each time the others grumble or huff or roll their eyes, Baldr gets this fleeting sad look on his strangely familiar face that somehow achieves in bringing images to Loki’s mind of sad sea lion pups – only for him to brighten up in the next beat, when his eyes, so eerily empty of colour except the ring of blue in his irises, land upon his next victim. Loki cannot take his gaze from the sight, reluctantly fascinated at the show of short-minded positivity the Aesir Prince is exhibiting. 

Noise starts echoing against the tall walls as Jötun warriors and courtiers scrap back wooden chairs to take their seatings at the long tables. It all turns into deafening silence when a lone figure enters the room, and they turn to stare as Thor passes from where the Asgardian delegation is seated at the side closer to the entrance. Thor makes his way past his former people with no hesitation, sparing not a single glance at their awe-filled faces. His strides, long, purposeful and unhurried, displaying an aura of calm indifference, strength in the swift roll of his shoulders, the swish of his arms at the sides of his hips. 

But his eyes– oh, his eyes. Loki feels a shiver shoot down his spine at the sight of their rubbiness; they still hold leftover tendrils of his earlier displeasure and the angry furrow of his blond brows might hide most of it, but Loki, even from a distance, can see how they fleet around the room – searching, seeking, hunting for his prey. 

A tingle crawls seducingly over Loki’s skin when Thor’s gaze stops on him for a split second before moving elsewhere and stays focused in front of him. Thor cannot see him – no one can – but he must feel it; that instinct in his gut attuned to Loki and his mischiefs must be pointing him correctly this time, too.

Thor takes a seat beside Loki’s eldest brother, Helbindi, nods his head in greeting and waits, silent, for the feast to begin as the noise and conversation picks up around him.

Loki counts to ten and silently makes his way outside again, waiting the beat of a breath before dropping his glamour. He smiles, pleased at the yelp of the servant that happened to pass by and keeps the playful smirk on his face as he walks back into the room, red eyes making contact with his target instantly.

The bangles around both of his ankles jingle with every step of his, the sheer emerald organza of his pantaloon swishes gently over his calves, like leaves on a breeze, making his blue thighs shimmer under the low light of the sconces. Loud gasps come from the visitors upon seeing his indecent dress and Loki is pretty sure he can hear his brothers’ grumbling from across the room at his dramatic entrance. 

A chair scrapes against the stone and tumbles on the floor. 

Loki keeps his gaze on the Asgardian Prince and smiles, tight-lipped but wide, pleasant and warm. Completely fabricated.

“Prince Baldr, what an immense pleasure it is to finally meet you,” Loki’s voice is a low timbre, aimed to swirl and crawl around the Prince’s body like a warm caress would. He extends one bejeweled hand for Baldr to take and kiss, hypnotized, felled under Loki’s spell already. “I’ve heard oh-so-much of you, your Highness.”

“Good feats, I hope.” The Prince chuckles, still holding onto Loki’s hand, looking at him with an almost dazed look in his strange set of eyes, and Loki has to think of the reason he is succepting himself to such vile torture for him to not roll his eyes at the cliche.

Instead, he smiles more. Leans forward as he retrieves his hand, jutting a hip out and tilting his head so the waterfall of his luscious curls will rush down his shoulder. He purposefully sends a sly look Thor’s way, satisfied in finding him standing up, glaring at Loki and the entire length of his pantaloon, the shortness of the opaque matching loincloth underneath hiding only what’s absolutely necessary from curious eyes. 

“ _Only_ good feats, of course.” he drawls, dragging a long finger down Baldr’s forearm. With a swirl of his feet and pantaloon, he saunters down to where his seat is waiting empty beside Thor’s upended chair.

The manner in which Thor pulls Loki’s chair out for him is deliberate, his own silent command to _‘sit down and don’t cause any more trouble’._ His eyes burn into Loki like incense on hot iron. 

Loki laughs in obvious delight.

* * *

The dinner goes exceedingly peaceful for Loki’s tastes. 

Everyone is terribly well-behaved, almost kind to the outworlders, moderate and restrained under the King’s watchful eye. Thor, though, has barely relaxed by his side, grip on his chalice of wine denting the steel of it while, outwardly, he looks as calm as ever, exuding only this air of quiet determination like he has always done before the King’s gaze since the day he was brought to live in this hostile Kingdom, determined to save his people from worse fates and make his ancestors proud.

Well, Loki will have to change that. It’s dreadfully boring.

Smirking, he makes to stand up, but Thor’s hand shoots out before he can do more than a subtle, little jump. Thor grabs his forearm and tugs him back down without turning to look at him, keeping his gaze on Byleistr, Loki’s second older brother, as he talks to him and Helbindi. Loki seethes quietly and tries to release his arm, but Thor’s hold tightens until he can feel fingers bruise on his skin.

“Let me go,” Loki hisses in Thor’s hair and, when he keeps ignoring him, Loki leans in and bites hard on the knob of his shoulder, nearly breaking skin.

“ _Fucki–!_ ” Thor exclaims, jumping in his seat and turning towards Loki in tandem, fingers letting go of Loki’s wrist immediately. His eyes are angry again, with eyebrows lowered and skin tight around them as he glares at, first, his shoulder and then Loki. The fingers of his other hand start massage the spot Loki bit on, lips pinched in disapproval. “You bit me,” he hisses, low and menacing, only for Loki’s ears to catch on to.

Loki smiles beatifically at his father who is looking towards them in mild interest before he shakes his enormous head and turns back to his conversation with his advisor. Then Loki scoffs in Thor’s face, throwing his hair over his shoulder before he starts massaging his own hand. “You were hurting me,” he says, pointing with his eyes at his flesh. 

Following Loki’s eyes, Thor looks down at where five indigo spots have already formed on the thin wrist. His expression takes on some kind of possessive pleasure at seeing Loki’s skin marked such and Loki is unable hold back the pleased smile that tugs on his lips. 

“Kinda possessive, don’t you think?” he teases lowly, shuffling forwards on his chair to come closer to Thor. He puts his hand on a muscled thigh while doing so, their eyes roving over each other’s face for a minute too long. Thor’s eyelashes flutter for a split second when Loki squeezes his leg, yellow fans surrounding the bleeding red of his eyes. 

“Don’t be absurd, Loki, I only wanted to stop you before you did something foolish.” Thor says, big hand closing gently over Loki’s, moving it away from his thigh and onto Loki’s own. His gaze stays a moment longer on the way the organza shimmers over Loki’s shapely legs and his lips take on a twist of displeasure. He coughs and moves back, away from Loki and their whispered conversation.

Clicking his tongue, Loki leans back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest when he sees Thor turning his back at him again to continue talking with his brothers. He really should just sit back and let this boring dinner end in as much an amicable and peaceful manner as it can, but Loki is bored out of his mind, irked at Thor and his stupid-ass decision to not give into Loki’s advances.

His eyes fall on the Asgardian party, on the Dumb Prince and the way his people laugh and cheer for him to drink the entirety of a chalice that is clearly made for creatures _way_ bigger than him. Loki rolls his eyes and sends a flutter of motivation through him when he glances from Baldr to Thor and back again. Well, if this is what will finally make Thor succumb to him, then so be it.

Loki flexes and curls his fingers in the air, relishing the little cracks he hears his knuckles making and he gets up in a single, nimble motion, pushing his chair back so it will make noise and gather the attention he wants. He walks through the narrow passage between him and Thor and manages to slither away before his self-proclaimed brother has the chance to grab him again.

“Loki.” Thor hisses in warning, eyes like daggers.

Loki smiles then, faked-sweet and innocent, and turns around to walk away, bracelets jingling in every step of his, like a mocking bell for Thor’s ears.

When he nears the Asgardian table, he opens his arms in a welcoming gesture, smiling broadly and jovially. “My, my, what a formidable drinker you make, my Prince. Very impressive, indeed,” he teases Baldr, voice high and carrying over the mesh hall.

Baldr, who still hasn’t finished drinking from his gigantic cup no matter his efforts, turns surprised to look at Loki, eyes making a quick, fascinated, once-over and he’s left staring at Loki open-mouthed for a moment or two before he pulls himself back in check. 

“Prince Loki,” he says dumbly and Loki has to try really hard to not roll his eyes at him. His smile feels frozen on his lips, expression expectant for the other Prince to say something, _anything,_ more intelligent. Loki raises an eyebrow, prompting, and Baldr seems to shake out of it. He laughs, embarrassed, and rubs a hand against the back of his head as Loki watches in horrid fascination his tanned face turn an unflattering shade of pink. “I beg your pardon, I wasn’t- we weren’t expecting you- or anyone really, coming to our table. We were being loud, I promise this won’t be repea-”

Loki cuts off his blubbering with a wave of his hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it.” _Gods, what an idiot._ “You were only being merry,” he says, gentle, and lets his hand rest over the fur covering the Prince’s arm. The sound of thunder rolls in from outside.

“Yes, but we must have been making a raucous. . .” Baldr whispers, shuffling his feet on the floor, looking like a kid that has been caught stealing from the pantry and Loki chuckles, loud and faux-happily. His hand is still on Baldr’s arm, long fingers dragging over the grey soft fur. 

“Things are a little boring around here, as you can clearly see.” Loki says, lower now, leaning in towards the prince, gifting him with a very fluttering view of his marked collar-bones and gesturing all around him, removing his hand slowly to bring it on his mouth in thought. “I am afraid you won’t find a lot of entertainment around here to keep you and your-” he takes a look at the ragtag group consisting the Prince’s retinue, smiling kindly at them, ”faithful companions amused while you stay with us.” 

Baldr is quick to gesture his hands, reassure that this won’t be a problem – they can entertain themselves alright, no need for the Prince to worry about them.

Loki keeps on the smile, gestures at the table and the other Asgardians. “Why don’t you show me then what Asgardians do for fun?” he suggests and, with a snap of his fingers, has his chair teleport from Thor’s side to his. Baldr and the rest are left looking at him surprised at this obvious display of seidr. 

“Shall we, Prince Baldr?”, Loki motions to the empty seats and moves to sit down beside the Prince who startles on his feet and rushes to hold Loki’s chair out for him. The sound of a fist banging on wood and the resulting clutter of silverware reaches his ears and Loki has to bite on his lips to not laugh out loud.

Oh, this is turning out to be very amusing, indeed.

* * *

By day four of having the Asgardians visit, Loki feels drained of energy. 

Baldr is so pure of heart and wonderful, attending and agreeable, His party is cordial, joyful, if a little mistrusting. Baldr has taken it on himself to prove to Loki that he can be good company and so he seeks him out whenever he isn’t trying to get Laufey-King schedule their next meeting. There is not even a tiny bad bone found in him. A total bore. Loki hates him a little bit more with every passing day. He wants him and their mundane Asgardian lot gone. Out of his sight, forever. 

The only good coming out of all this self-susceptible torture is the obvious effect it has on Thor. 

Outside of the palace’s walls, the wind peaks up, the light snow turning more and more into a blizzard with every time Thor gets to witness Loki making friends with Baldr. 

Every time Loki laughs at something the Prince has said and Thor just so _happens_ to be in the vicinity, there is a roll of thunder and the storm brewing outside turns that little bit stronger. For the past two nights Loki has gotten up in the middle of dinner and sat with Baldr and his advisors, and every night Thor has tried to stop him, only for him to wrap his hand through illusions left behind by Loki. He has been mostly avoiding Thor, ignoring his passes at trying to make him behave, keeping their conversations short – recycling as they are. 

Thor doesn’t seem to like it. Oh, no, he doesn’t like it at all. 

The red of his eyes is vibrant in his anger, the tightness in his jaws under his beard perpetual, as is the downcast of his eyebrows and the glower of his expression.

Loki relishes in such obvious displays of irritation; of how much it proves him right in deciding to use a person that could almost be the splitting image of Thor himself – his very own brother – to make him jealous and show him what he is missing out on. They aren’t the only runts treading the palace’s premises, the only size-compatible people, anymore. Loki could choose any one from the Asgardians to turn his interest on, but no one else would do. Not in the effect that choosing Baldr does.

So, in the morning of day four, Loki gets off the bed, stretches languidly and walks into his bathing chambers where he takes a dive in the pool of running water. When he surfaces he sees the shadow of Byleistr rippling in the clear water. 

“Good morning, little brother,” Byleistr rumbles, taking a seat on the floor with crossed legs. He’s dressed in brown leather pants, a matching sash wrapped around his hips, leather bandages around his wrists and across his chest. The mating mark of his beloved on the side of his corded neck left bare for the world to see. Loki looks at it with yearning.

“Good morning, brother.” Loki says, truly happy with this impromptu visit, but perplexed at the same time too.

From his family, Byleistr has always been the only one not looking down at him, not trying to use Loki’s meager size as something the latter should be ashamed of. He is, possibly, Loki’s favourite after Thor.

Loki takes the bar of soap in his hand and starts lathering his hands. “What can I do for you?” he asks as he washes his waist-length hair, disentangling the knots with his fingers and the help of seidr.

Byleistr leans to the side, watching him. There is an almost petulant pout on his lips, eyes pleading. “Can you please stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing with the Prince of Asgard and start _showering_ Thor with your affection, again?” he grumbles, rolling his head along with his eyes. 

Loki chuckles, diving underwater and coming back up again. “And why should I?”

“Because Thor has been in a foul mood and a thorn in my side,” Byleistr grouches, “Only yesterday I had to hold him back from storming off and obliterating his visiting brother close to ten times. _In the span of an hour._ ”

Loki hums, washing his body. “I don’t see how this could be my doing,” he teases.

Byleistr’s deadpan look is enough to make him laugh.

“Just spare the poor guy. You’re driving him crazy.”

“We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Loki’s smile stays pleased on his lips as he walks off the pool, wraps the towel Byleistr hands him around his narrow hips and starts brushing his hair with his oils, humming to himself a tune the whole time.

* * *

It’s just Baldr and him the next time Thor runs into them. 

It’s a couple hours after lunch and Baldr has sided Loki when he was walking from the luncheon hall to the library, asking him all things he could come up with about Jötunheim and its places, the bright lights he could see yesterday from his windows, the animals and the flora. Loki’s mouth is starting to get gritty, voice hoarse from how much he has talked already. He can feel a few brain cells shrivelling up and flat-out dying as Baldr’s questions keep coming in – one more mundane and boring than the other. 

The whole time, the young Prince is looking at him as though Loki has hung the moon, taking in with much care every word that slips through his dark blue lips.

If he is pressed to admit, Loki will confess in finding such obvious displays of fascination rather flattering. A variation from how he is usually treated – only Thor and Byleistr have shown more than a trudge of acceptance till now and so, to have the young Prince showing such positive reactions to Loki’s existence and intellect in only a few days’ time is something that surprises Loki in a good way. 

Finally, after what seems like hours, Baldr thinks it appropriate to start raining Loki with information about Asgard. Usually he would absorb information like a sponge, thrilled to know new things about places he hasn’t visited and people he hasn’t met, but, at this particular moment and with this particular person, he couldn’t care less.. 

Nevertheless, he looks avidly at Baldr as he talks, trying to look animated and as if he doesn’t want to summon one of his daggers just to plunge it in his ears so he won’t have to listen to him anymore. Or deep inside Baldr’s stomach. Any option at this point holds the same kind of temptation.

Loki leans on the wall by the library’s doors and starts playing an inner game of _find the differences_ between Thor and Baldr, just so he can subdue the killing desire rising inside him. The differences are small with the most obvious being how Baldr is at least three inches shorter than his older brother, but Loki has memorised Thor’s features by heart after all this time, so he starts cataloguing them. He finds that Baldr’s are smoother than Thor’s, gentler, his eyes a shade lighter than Thor’s had been, his eyelashes not so thick. Baldr’s upper lip is a little fuller, chapped from the cold of Jötunheim. The uptick of their noses is exactly the same, but Baldr’s nose doesn’t have the bumpy bridge from when Thor had broken his a few centuries ago when a slab of snow had detached from the edge of the hill they were standing on, resulting in both him and Loki falling and rolling down the hill, until a red-leaved tree had appeared to hinder their descend; Thor had crashed into the bark face-first and Loki had thankfully collided with Thor’s fur-covered back – coming out of the whole ordeal without a single scratch.

Loki smiles fondly at the memory, thinking of how Thor had tried to seem strong and as if it didn’t hurt to have his nose break, pinching his eyebrows and lips in pain while trying to not whine when Loki had covered the already bluish skin with a handful of snow. Baldr smiles back, eyes tingling in delight at Loki’s sweet smile. It makes Loki notice how the way his eyes scrunch on the outer edges is the exact same as Thor’s do.

At least Baldr is pretty agreeable to the eye – it’s not a great feat for Loki to keep his gaze on him or fake interest while he babbles away. 

The faint light from the windows and the flaming wall sconces creates shadows on Loki’s body that move and contort with every motion of his, displaying the planes and pivots of his lean torso, glinting on his jewelry and accessories, illuminating the folds of his dark green satin pantaloon so it doesn’t look nearly as black. A light breeze sneaks through the slits on both sides of his legs that start at the end of his wide, embroidered belt and end to the middle of his thighs, the ankles of the pants are wide and snug around his fine bones. 

For the first time in the past few days, he is unintentionally seducing with the way his hip is jutting out and his hand absent-mindedly caresses his other arm, fiddling with his golden bracelets and black leather straps around his wrists and biceps. The tilt of his neck keeps drawing Baldr’s eyes on it, the shine of his golden torc. 

It is at that moment he hears the sound of hurried, strong footsteps coming from down the corridor. He lets his eyes travel from Baldr’s face – who’s still going on about inane things – to the figure approaching behind him and it takes a moment for his slow-from-boredom mind to realize that he’s staring at Thor nearing them. 

He smirks at the way Thor’s fists keep flexing and tightening on his sides, the way his hard stare turns into a glare when he sees Loki’s attire and the provocative way he is positioned, the emptiness of the corridor around the couple. His eyes are right-out murderous when they land on the back of Baldr’s head. 

Loki feels his lips stretching on a beaming smile, he doesn’t move to stand more upright. “Thor, hello there,” he cuts into Baldr’s ramblings, greeting the Head of the Guard. He gestures to the other Prince, letting his hand stray and touch Baldr’s arm. It must look intimate, the way Loki’s hand stays on its found place, the enamored smile that Baldr gives him – Loki would swear he can hear the blizzard outside pick up. “Prince Baldr here was just saying to me how beautiful Asg-” 

Loki doesn’t have time to finish his sentence – Thor’s hand comes to wrap around the side of his neck and pull him away from the wall. 

“You. Train with me. Now.” he orders, dragging him away from the library and a shell-shocked Baldr.

“Wait, wait! What are you-” Baldr tries to complain, but Thor turns and roarsat him, unheeding of Loki’s half-hearted opposition.

“Oh, no, we were talking here, _brother_.” Loki complains, sending regretful looks at Baldr, who stands stunned and obviously startled. “My Prince, I am afraid we will have to continue our conversation at another time,” he waves a hand to him in adieu, rearranging his expression so it looks regretful while, in truth, he is thankful for Thor’s rude interruption. He’s a Godsend, really. Any more and Loki would have probably caused some kind of political episode.

Loki’s lips fall in a slight curve as he allows himself to be manhandled all the way to the training grounds. 

“How rude of you, _brother_.” he teases, when they round the corner, watching Thor’s strong profile and the determination residing in his features. “Prince Baldr and I had a very interesting conversation regarding your homeland. You could’ve at least stood at the side and allow us to finish before you dragged me away like an uncivilized brute.” Loki berates him, feeling Thor’s fingers twitch in their hold of his nape.

Thor doesn’t say a single word until they enter the training ring where he pushes on him hard and makes him stumble on the thick cover of snow. 

“Now, there’s no reason to be so harsh.” Loki mutters as he finds his footing, brushing his hair away from his face. 

“Change.” Thor barks, unhitching Ice Crusher from the clasps on his back and examining its weight on his hands, throwing it from one hand to the other. 

“Thor,” Loki begins, motioning his hands beatifically, watching his brother round him up, “I’m not really keen for a fight. More so in the middle of a blizzard.”

Thor’s mouth pulls on a smirk, tight-lipped and mocking. “Why, such a shame, brother, because I just so happen to be.” he taunts, spinning the great hammer in one palm. “Change.” He repeats, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty attire.” 

“You could tear it off for all I care.” Loki drawls suggestively, but waves a hand nevertheless over his body, banishing his jewels and accessories to his rooms and changing his pantaloons for a pair of snug-fitting leather pants that won't hinder his moves. The dark waterfall of his hair twists and curls into a long braid behind his back;. “Better now?” he asks, opening his hands on the sides to exhibit himself in a mock gesture.

Thor grins, feral and predatory. Loki wants to jump him on the ground, here and now; throw his cleverly convoluted plan in the wind and make Thor his. 

“Perfect,” he says and attacks, leaving not a single moment for Loki to study his moves.

Loki has the span of a heartbeat to sidestep and turn to the side. Thor’s forearm brushes on his chest as Ice Crusher passes before him in a thrust. He grabs the arm with a chilling hand, pulls Thor’s bulk more towards him and whispers in his ear like a hissing snake: “If you wanted to touch me so bad, you could’ve just said so.” 

And he’s out of sight before Thor has the time to turn their momentum to his advantage.

Thor is left staggering, spinning around to see where his brother went off to. Loki’s laugh can be heard through the blizzard, surrounding him, confusing him. He roars out Loki’s name, and – there – he can see the slender silhouette of him to his right. Loki’s waiting until Thor is a step away to drop his glamour, appearing just behind him.

“Your little tantrum is coming in handy.” He says, tugging on Thor’s hair and rolling on the snow when Thor pivots around to strike him. 

Thor turns again to watch him as he stands swiftly on his feet, elegant and nimble as ever. He doesn’t rise to the bait, but reaches out with his hand so quick Loki has no chance to avoid the hammer passing beside his ribs. Its jagged, frosted edges dig into Loki’s back as he’s being pulled forward. Thor’s hold on Ice Crusher’s staff moves as Loki stumbles and falls onto his chest.

“Petty tricks won’t work on me, Loki.” Thor murmurs. 

The sensation of his beard dragging against Loki’s jaw sending a jolt down Loki’s spine. His fingers push on the small of Loki’s back as he keeps him still. Loki’s breath comes out airy when he replies, hand closing on Thor’s around his back. He smiles, letting his lips drag on the shell of Thor’s ear.

“Oh, but they are already working,” he murmurs back and calls a wave of seidr so powerful to his hand that sends the Ice Crusher flying from his brother’s grip.

The sound Thor makes has Loki chuckling as he pushes away from him, grip gone slack due to his surprise. The hammer doesn’t get called back in its owner’s hand and Loki exhilarates on the fact – Thor means to fight closely, make contact while trying to subdue his tricks and twists.

With a snap of his fingers Loki disappears and reappears a few feet away, trapping Thor in a game of tug. He uses his magic to glide swiftly, easily over the snow while Thor ploughs his way through it with no real hindrance. The blizzard around them keeps thrashing against their bodies, a million tiny little shards that chill their skins and hinder their sight. It makes it all the more thrilling.

Loki sends small, harmless blasts of seidr at Thor, kicks at him and evades whenever Thor tries to kick his feet from under him or reach for him with grabbing hands, swirls and spins away from his hold. Makes him chase. A predator and his pray. But who is the predator and who’s the prey in this waltz of theirs that’s so much like a mating ritual?

Thor’s anger subsides the more he keeps chasing after Loki’s slippery form. The blizzard turns into hard snowfall. Snowflakes fleck on their faces, embellish their hair and stick to their eyelashes. And, when Thor manages to wrap an arm around Loki’s middle, crush their bodies together, Loki’s back to his enormous chest, Loki turns his head to the side and licks a stripe from Thor’s jaw to his cheekbone.

“Are you ready to give in yet?” he asks, sultry and breathing hard.

Turning his head to the side, he bares the long, shapely line of his throat. He looks at Thor through half-lidded eyes and swallows, licking his cold lips, making his muscles contract. Thor pursues his own lips, biting on them from the inside; a groan comes from the back of his throat.

"Don't do that." 

"Do what?"

"You know what, Loki." He can feel the way Thor breathes heavily, the chilly tip of his nose caressing the tendon in the side of Loki's neck. Thor swallows hard, his crotch nudging Loki’s hip. 

Bringing an arm up, Loki embraces Thor’s neck, head tilted on the muscled cup of his shoulder. Thor’s hold around his midriff tightens, the grip he has on Loki’s hip hurts in such a good way Loki has to drown the need to purr. “ _No, brother._ ” He’s being pushed away the next second and he falls on his hands and knees, braid falling over his shoulder. 

The rejection hurts fiercer than it has ever done before.

Heat rises to his neck and cheeks. His ears wheeze and the back of his head prickles. Loki’s eyes turn almost black in his anger, the pupils nearly eating the colour out. With a roar of his own he stands up, spins around and charges at Thor. Thrusts a shoulder in his stomach. 

“Oof-” Thor wheezes. It takes him a moment to put his foot out and withstand Loki’s momentum. He manages to push him away a few steps. 

Loki is breathing hard, eyes inscenced. It doesn’t take much time for him to throw out his left fist at Thor’s face. Thor blocks him with his right forearm, evades the following punch of Loki’s right hand with a tilt to the side that brings Loki’s arm over his shoulder. He embraces Loki’s neck, caging his arm, but he has left his side open for Loki to plunge a dagger in under his ribs.

Thor moans in pain, but doesn’t let go of Loki – he has withstood more serious injuries, yet another dagger in the side from Loki is nothing worth of mind.

They spin around as Loki tries to escape his hold and Thor tries to throw him down, their legs between each other’s, footfalls light on the soft snow. They’re caught in a dance much different than the one before.

Finding his footing, Loki delivers a knee to Thor’s gut, an elbow behind the juncture of his shoulder with his neck. Thor roars and wraps a leg behind one of Loki’s, tumbles him to the ground. But Loki is lithe and quick and, before Thor has the opportunity to strike, Loki lifts his lower body in the air and wraps his legs around Thor’s torso. He spins and pushes, making Thor lose his balance and fall.

Fumbling to disentangle his legs from Thor’s, he is quick to crawl overtop him, sit on his belly and start throwing punches at him. Unthinking, inelegant things that manage to tire him quicker than he manages to land more than a few at the stupid face before him. 

“Loki! Stop!” Thor tries, forearms guarding him from Loki’s fists. But Loki has lost his cool; any sense of technique or strategizing lost in the flame of his anger. He doesn’t listen to him.

Thor blocks another punch, throws Loki’s hand farther back and finds the opportunity to sit up and wrap his arms around Loki’s midsection. He tilts them to the side and comes to kneel between Loki’s legs. Catching first the one and then the second fine wrist in his wide hands, Thor immobilizes Loki. He crosses his wiry arms over his heaving chest and lowers on top of him, unheeding of his thrashing and his attempts to throw Thor off.

Thor stays his position, waiting for Loki’s anger to fan out and, after a while, it does. 

Loki gives a couple last tugs on his arms, but eventually he holds still. He doesn’t relax, he stays stiff like a cord beneath Thor, swallowing hard and glaring at his brother with daggers in his eyes. Thor thinks they might one day make him bleed worse than his real ones.

“Will you listen to me, now?” Thor asks, watching Loki. His pupils are slowly retracting, his eyes glitter red in the faint light, a beautiful contrast to the whiteness surrounding them. 

Loki keeps silent, lips and jaw tight, his eyes prickling. He blinks once, twice and wills his emotions back under control. Thor slumps against him, forehead lowering to touch against Loki’s horns. "I can't-” he murmurs, shutting his eyes while nosing at the base of them. “I can't mark you. Laufey would have my head if I did." 

"Since when are you afraid of Laufey?" Loki spits with venom, arms tugging again against Thor’s hold.

“‘M’not afraid of him.” Thor whispers and makes a pause. His lips flutter over the edge of Loki’s brow. He inhales, deep as if he wants to burn Loki’s scent in the back of his throat. “‘Tis myself I’m afraid of.” he admits in the end, pulling back to stare at Loki’s surprised eyes.

Thor frees one of Loki’s wrists. Brings his hand to hold the side of Loki’s neck, his thumb brushing on the chilly-wet flesh of Loki’s bottom lip.

“Ymir knows what I’ll do to you if I let go to my desires.” 

A wet breath escapes Loki’s lips, trembling with want. “I won’t stop you,” he murmurs, parting his lips to wrap around the digit, tongue searing-hot on the flesh.

Thor takes a deep breath, his own tongue coming out to wet his lips.

Within a breath he extracts his thumb from Loki’s mouth, lets go of his arm and stands up. He looks down at his brother; the way he’s still half-lying in the snow, bracing himself on his elbows behind him. An indention of Thor’s knees is left between his legs, his leather pants are tenting slightly, blue chest still moving erratically on his breathing. He looks at Thor with desire, lust and a strong thread of willpower. Loki’s a speck of colours inside an otherwise bland environment. 

“You must.” Thor concludes and stalks away, back stiff and fists tight at his sides. He knows – they both know it won’t be long before Thor falls like a puppet inside Loki’s hands.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Loki enters the hall after everyone else is already seated. Makes a show of calling his chair from where it stands, empty, beside his brothers and Thor to the Asgardian table. 

He spares only a fickle stare for Thor and proceeds being perfectly cordial and enjoyable to the visiting Prince and his entourage.

The storm outside is nothing like anyone has ever experienced before.

* * *

In the end, it takes five more days and a lucky-timed exit from the visiting Prince’s rooms to have Thor snap. 

Loki has been avoiding Thor. Ignoring him and evading him. He hasn’t spoken a single word to him since their _little_ fight, peppery tendrils of his rejection lingering in the back of his tongue, souring his mood.

Baldr has also been standing in thin fucking ice with his good mood and warm smiles. The honesty in his eyes whenever he complemented Loki. Fucking insufferable.

Taking in shuddering breaths every few minutes, Loki tries to hold back from grabbing the Prince from his throat and choking him to death. First, because that’s not Loki’s preferred way of taking people out and second, his Father may be completely uncaring of the Prince’s existence, but he’d surely wouldn’t look at Loki any more favourable than he does now. Which is, not at all.

So, Loki tries to keep himself in check. Lounges back in the wingback chair he occupies in Baldr’s guests rooms and succeeds to not sound too caustic when the Prince’s chess reindeer eats another one of Loki’s pawns. He has only four pieces left; his King, Consort and two Jarls while Baldr still has more than half his board.

Now, usually, Loki would have ended the game in a few moves – no one has ever been able to win against him in any kind of strategy game – but he has been feeling out of it today. Spending long periods of time away from Thor’s company never bode well with him and the signs of it are making themselves obvious in the biting of his lips, the constant cracking of his fingers and his mood that slowly, but certainly, spirals towards a full-on irritation at everything and anyone.

He attempts to comb his fingers through his hair in muted annoyance, but mutters a curse when his fingers get tangled in the golden circlet and its teardrop charms.

“Ymir’s tits! Fucki-” he says when he feels his hair get pulled because of his rings. 

Prince Baldr chuckles in good-humour and stands up to help him. “Just let me- there. All perfect.” he says, sitting back down.

Loki thanks him with a nod. Pursues his lips into a frown and crosses his legs at the knees. Baldr’s eyes fall on them, watch as the sheer, lime green organza of his skirt parts on the side to reveal a blue thigh.

Smiling cruelly, Loki tilts his chin into his palm. “My eyes are up here, Prince Baldr,” he says.

Baldr’s head snaps in attention, his cheeks flush with warmth. He’s ready to stumble over a series of apologies, no wonder, but Loki will have none of it today. He gestures with his free hand to cut him off. 

“I have no interest in your apologies, Prince Baldr,” Loki says. “Now if you would, I’d have us continue this farce of a game,” he looks down at him, chin still propped in his palm, bored.

The heat from the fireplace at their right makes Loki warm, irritable, slow. His head feels fuzzy and cotton-like. He jerks his leg in annoyance, the light fabric of his skirt creating a slight gust of air. The move he makes next is completely unthinkable. Ridiculous. He leaves his Queen open for one of Baldr’s Jarls to take out and it’s two more moves before his King gets upturned. With this, Loki has lost three games in succession. It’s obvious that he is out of it today.

“Checkmate,” Baldr says, beaming a smile at him. 

Loki scoffs and stands up. Baldr stands up with him. “Well done, Prince Baldr,” Loki says, looking down at him. “I will take my leave now, I feel rather unwell.”

“Allow me to escort you then,” offers Baldr in honest interest. Loki has to deny, though; any minute longer and the Prince might find himself with a knife impeded in his side.

“No. I would like to be alone.” It comes out a little harsher than intended. Baldr jerks back as if he were struck and Loki doesn’t waste time with unwanted pleasantries – he spins on his heel and exits the room, feeling like he can finally breathe when the cold air of the corridor hits his face.

Loki shuts his eyes and takes a deep inhale of crispy breath. His cheeks feel like they are burning from the heat of the room, his hair is a mess on his head from his own fumbling fingers, lips bitten swollen from the insults he had to hold back. It’s no wonder why Thor misunderstands his exit from their guest’s room. 

Loki doesn’t have the time to exhale. A snarl sounds from right beside him and, in the next heartbeat, a hand wraps on his throat, jerking him away from the door and to the opposite wall.

Angry, bleeding red and sunny yellow fills his sight. The air gets knocked out of him when his back hits the wall. Loki’s hands grapple on Thor’s strong forearm, attempt to drag his hand away from his neck, but to no avail. He’s lifted on the tip of his toes against the wall, brought face to face with his brother. The fingers twitch against his flesh, making him choke for breath.

“Are you so hungry for cock that anyone’s would do?” Thor spits, bringing his face close to Loki’s. His hand eases up on its hold, moves to the back of Loki’s neck to grab a fistfull of hair and tug, making Loki whine at the prickling pain it induces. 

“If I wasn’t wiser, I’d say you sound jealous,” Loki says. Taunts, really. His eyes bore into Thor’s, marvels at the sheer, obvious anger he can see in them.

“Was this your plan all along – to make me jealous?” Thor asks harshly, grabbing with his other hand at Loki’s shoulder. 

Loki can’t respond without giving away too much – he has already been rejected countless times before – he can only shudder at the way Thor’s leg comes to press between his own. 

“Tell me, brother,” Thor says, tugging at the tuft of hair in his hold, “did you fuck him or did you let him have a taste of Jötun royalty?” He asks crudely and Loki smiles, this wide, close-lipped smile of his that’s always been near the side of insanity. He has challenge in his eyes.

“What is it to you, anyway?” 

Thor makes a sound at the back of his throat, animalistic and vicious. He surges forward, pushes his mouth against Loki’s in a hard, short kiss. It’s over before Loki has time to savour it. He stares at Thor glaring at him. They are both breathing hard. Thor’s mouth open against his, breaths mingling, skin around his eyes tight. 

They don’t speak, caught in heavy silence, waiting to see how the other will react – who will break first.

And it’s Thor who does. He whines, low and short as he leans back in. This time the kiss is slow, his lips soft upon Loki’s, searching, asking, seeking. His hands fall from Loki’s shoulder and neck to encircle Loki’s slim waist, pulling him closer while keeping him propped on the wall. 

A moan escapes Loki’s lips in a shuddering breath as he grabs onto Thor’s shoulder, wraps an arm around his neck to keep him close. Thor’s tongue licks on the seam of his lips, asking for entrance that’s easily and eagerly granted.

The taste of him in Loki’s mouth is intoxicating, makes his head swim on endorphins. It’s perfect. It’s all he has ever wanted.

The sound of a door opening cuts through the silence of the corridor. Loki has a quarter of a mind to crack open an eyelid and see Baldr standing behind Thor, gobsmacked, staring at them.

Loki smirks upon Thor’s lips. He’s half wanting to see what would happen if Thor took notice of him right now, but the way Thor’s fingers tighten on his waist and his tongue swirls with Loki’s it’s too delicious for the mischief to win over.

He waves a hand in shooing to the other Prince and shuts his eyes again. Nothing is more important than this moment. 

“Thor.” The door shuts with a nearly silent click just as Loki whispers Thor’s name. An airy breath, lost between moving flesh.

Groaning, Thor hitches his hands under Loki’s legs, lifts him up and steps closer, supporting his brother’s weight. Loki is quick to wrap his legs around him, tangle his fingers in the forever-wild mess of his hair. 

“Did you?” Thor asks, leaning back to look at Loki. His gaze is open, unguarded, Loki wants to chuckle in mirth at the vulnerability he sees in it. To witness the Mighty Thor reduced to this – the fine hairs at Loki’s body ripple with goosebumps.

“Did I, what, _brother_?”

While sighing, Thor blinks his eyes, once, twice, works his jaw, getting ready to ask what Loki already knows.

“Did you fuck the Prince?” he hisses, venom and jealousy colouring his voice. His hands tighten around Loki’s waist again, notices how they span his flesh, rub on the markings of his skin.

Loki stares at him for a long moment, smiles slowly, bites on the side of his lips with one of his fangs. He feels Thor’s fingers twitch against his skin, so he drags it out a little longer, exhilarates on the feeling of dominance he gets.

Eventually, he pulls Thor in for a slow kiss, tugs on one of his beard-plaits playfully. 

“Why don’t you find out yourself?” He dares, digging one of his heels in the small of Thor’s back, pushing him closer. 

Their crotches rub together. Thor’s eyes go dark with desire. Lips drag over Loki’s jaw and he chuckles lowly when a kiss flutters on the side of his neck. Thor’s beard ignites the sweetest kind of itch in its path. 

The sound of his pulse is deafening in his ears, anticipation and lust making his breath turn shallow, get drowned in the pit of his throat with soft little moans as Thor mouths at his neck, leaves a different kind of marks behind to embellish Loki’s skin. One of Thor’s hands caresses down his waist, fiddle with the jewelry adorning his naval above the crossing of his gilded golden belt.

“Once we do this, there’s no turning back, Loki,” Thor says, lips tickling on Loki’s skin.

“Who said I would ever want to go back?” Loki says, smiling at hearing Thor sigh long-sufferingly.

“I won’t hold back,” Thor tries to warn him. His willpower to resist is turning thin, losing yet another layer with every heartbeat that passes – Loki knows. He can feel it in the way his brother’s big hands tremble, in how his teeth linger that tiny bit more around Loki’s skin.

Loki would have him wait a little more, wear him out until he has no other option, but to give in to their desires. Loki has been wore thin from the trial the past week has turned out to be. He is ready to have that which he has always wanted. All for himself and only.

“I don’t want you to,” he promises, whispering at Thor’s ear, nibbling on the cartilage and swiping his tongue over to soothe.

A moment. Then Thor’s massive shoulders shag in relief and he is moving. He drops one of Loki’s legs on the floor, hitches the other in the crook of his arm. His free hand sneaks through the split in Loki’s skirt, nails scraping upwards on the backside of a lean thigh, leaving indigo welts in their passing all the way to the edge of Loki’s matching panties. 

There, he grabs a fistful of flesh and Loki moans as lips latch on his slender neck again. Sucking the skin between his teeth. Nibbling lightly. Thor’s hand lets go of Loki’s ass, moves down and inside, feather-light and tickling on the hem of Loki’s underwear. 

Loki shudders in anticipation and excitement, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to hold back from whining when Thor’s fingers sneak between fabric and flesh. He holds his breath and, there, Thor’s fingers rub against his perineum, slick with his excitement.

Thor groans at the wetness. Moves his hand away and around for better access and dips under the drenched fabric once more. His hand is big, his fingers long and wide. They're worked, calloused from years of wielding weapons, with little tears and cuticles that drag deliciously against the velvety flesh of Loki's cunt. Sending shivers to spark on Loki's spine, making the fine hairs of his body stand from the sheer pleasure it induces. 

“Thor,” Loki says. Pleading for more.

A finger moves deeper, finds the tiny hole and dips inside. There’s barely enough space. Thor moans loudly and when he speaks he sounds strained. Frenzied.

“Room. Yours. Mine. Whichever. _Now!_ ” 

It takes longer than Loki wants to admit for him to concentrate enough and remember the arcane word for teleportation. He’s burning with desire. His head is a mess of _want_ and _pleasure_ and _yearning._

“ _Loki!”_ Thor snarls, shaking him with his body, not retracting his hand or finger for a single second.

Loki shakes his head and grabs tighter onto Thor’s shoulder. With a snap of his fingers they shimmer out and reappear inside his chambers. 

It’s then that Thor withdraws his hand, lets Loki’s propped leg fall on the ground. He is quick to grab Loki’s waist and spin him around, drop him to bounce on the furs of the Prince’s enormous bed. His circlet falls from his head, his hair getting tangled in it. Thor stops for a moment to study him – his gaze ravenous as it travels down Loki’s prone form and Loki doesn’t have a spare moment to complain for the sudden, unwanted distance before Thor is pouncing, crawling between his legs. 

Careless hands start making quick work on his attire. Thor abandons any effort at being patient when Loki’s golden belt doesn’t give in; he grabs fistfulls of sheer fabric and pulls, tearing away the thin material. He throws it to the side, uncaring of the mess and repeats the actions with Loki’s panties. 

Just like that, Loki is left nude before him, his various trinkets doing nothing to cover him from his brother’s stare. 

“Told you I wouldn’t mind tearing them apart,” Loki drawls and Thor kisses kisses him once on the lips before he draws back to sit on his haunches and look at Loki with hunger and admiration. His eyes fleet over the gold rings on Loki’s little horns, the assortment of earrings embellishing his slightly elfin cartilages and the golden teardrops latched on the lobes; from the torc low on his cleavage to the armbands on his biceps and the bracelets on his wrists; it lingers on the rubby glinting in the dip of his naval, the way the double-crossing belt embraces his tiny waist and his hips. Loki’s cock twitches at the power of his gaze, a thin dollop of slick dribbling on the metal of the belt.

“Beautiful,” Thor murmurs reverently and takes one of Loki’s ankles in his hand, the anklets jingling at the jostling.

Loki whines and writhes upon the bed as Thor’s mouth drags from his calf to his knee and the inside of his thigh. He shudders at the bite left on the juncture of his thigh with his groin. One of his hands finds its way inside the mane of Thor’s hair. 

Thor leaves fluttering kisses on the seam of Loki’s cunt, pops out his tongue to have a taste of wetness that has him moaning before he moves upwards, on the base of Loki’s hard dick. 

Moaning, Loki tugs on Thor’s tresses. His brother’s mouthing on his cock and it feels fantastic, amazing. It’s like a dream. Thor’s tongue is searing hot against his flesh, it’s drag delicious as it moves upwards, slicking him until it can lap at the head.

“Thor,” Loki calls on a moan, trying to keep strong against the need to close his eyes. He wants to be able to watch Thor, savour the sight of his mighty brother servicing him, at last. 

A straying hand finds the way to Loki’s cunt just as Thor wraps his lips around the head of Loki’s cock. Thor’s red eyes stay glued on Loki’s,he smiles around the flesh in his mouth when Loki groans and lets his head fall back on the furs.

“ _Norns! Thor!_ ” 

Laughing low in his throat, Thor sneaks his fingers inside the seam of Loki’s cunt and Loki starts trembling even before Thor’s fingertips come in contact with his clit. The feeling of Thor’s worked flesh against his sensitive skin is almost too much, shivers run down his spine in perfect echo. 

Thor lowers his head on Loki’s cock, moans at the way his brother is tugging on his hair. He rearranges a little between Loki’s legs and brings his other hand to join the first. 

Loki won’t last long, that he knows – the onslaught of sensations too powerful and too much for him to even hope to last longer. 

It’s the finger dipping inside his heat that brings him over the edge and, with a wordless shout, Loki starts trembling under Thor’s weight, thighs bracketing Thor’s shoulders in a vice as he cums in his mouth. Thor keeps on sucking at his cock until there is nothing more coming out, drawing away only when Loki complains with half a heart and pushes at his head. 

The thumb on his clit has stopped too, careful of overstimulating him, but the finger inside Loki stays there, dragging slowly in and out at such a slow pace that has Loki sighing and opening his clenched thighs. Thor’s other hand cups the outside of Loki’s thigh, caresses the skin, follows the lines and twirls of his Jötun markings. 

Thor kisses tiny, light kisses on the top of Loki’s thighs, turns them more insisted with every new one, leaving behind darker bluish marks to adorn his perfect skin.

“Come ‘ere,” Loki drawls, tugging on the metal of Thor’s cape to prompt him into moving. Thor is only happy to oblige as he crawls up Loki’s body that’s lax beneath him. “Take this off.”

“As you wish, your Highness,” Thor says and chuckles along with Loki. He stands tall on his knees upon the furs and sheds his cape of black fur. When he moves his hands on the waistband of his pants, the fabric shimmers and fades, leaving him grabbing at nothing.

Loki laughs, sitting up to cup a hand behind Thor’s neck. “There, that’s better,” he says and kisses on Thor’s chest, dragging him down along with him when he falls back on the bed. “Now, where were we?”

“I was about to fuck you, if I recall correctly,” Thor murmurs, lips whispering on the base of Loki’s horns, fingers scratching down his lean body.

Loki hums, hitching a leg over Thor’s hip, grinding their groins together. He’s already filling in again. “You’re taking too long,” he taunts. 

One of his hands reach down to take Thor’s considerable length in his hold and his brother jerks into the touch, prespend drooling from the slit in one clear line. He’s big, heavy inside Loki’s palm, a little intimidating for Loki’s virginal cunt.

Thor takes a shuddering breath, pushes his forehead against Loki’s as he rolls his hips and, when he opens his eyes, he kisses him, hard and deep and lewd. Their lips make a wet sound when they separate, a string of drool keeping them connected until it snaps and falls on Loki’s chin. Thor kisses him there, on the cutting edge of his jaw, and moves slowly, languidly, farther down, on his neck and his shoulders, his collarbones and his wiry pectorals. 

A nipple gets encased into the hotness of his mouth at the same time that his finger finds its way back into Loki’s wetness. It’s followed up quickly by a second and the burn of the stretch has Loki keening in the back of his throat. Thor’s fingers are bigger than his, longer. The stretch only two of them manage is wider, as wide as three of Loki’s. 

Grabbing at the strong slope of a shoulder, Loki pulls Thor closer, winds his fingers in the hairline of his brother’s nape. Nails dig into Thor’s flesh, marking him for all to see tomorrow as Loki starts rolling his hips, wanting more of that perfect feeling that has his toes curling and his breath getting caged in his lungs.

Thor’s mouth is like a branding iron on skin as he makes a path for the other dark nipple. He doesn’t try to shake Loki’s painful grasp. 

The two fingers get joined by a third and, before long, Loki is a babbling mess beneath him, trembling with want, cock drooling low on his tummy.

“Thor, _come on!_ ” Loki whines, tugging on Thor’s neck to get him to face him. When Thor does, Loki kisses him deeply, pushes at Thor’s forearm to make him withdraw his hand from between them.

Thor’s other hand combs through the dark fall of Loki’s hair while he returns with fervor Loki’s kiss and Loki brackets Thor’s hips with his legs, tilts his hips when he feels the blunt head of his brother’s cock graze against his clit and moving lower in the wet mess of his cunt.

It burns when Thor enters him. Loki’s eyes start prickling, and he lets out a gasp when Thor draws back and pushes in again, going deeper. 

“Shh, beloved. I’ve got you, brother,” Thor murmurs on the corner of Loki’s mouth, repeats the roll of his hips, going deeper every time.

It’s overwhelming. Loki almost can’t breathe. Tears escape the closed slits of his eyes to glide on the temples of his face. He feels the last hint of resistance give, and he’s suddenly able to breathe easier.

“Told you to check for yourself,” Loki slurs as if drunk, opening his wet eyes to look at Thor who chuckles in mirth, kisses Loki’s tears, the tip of his arrogant nose, his lips.

“Mine,” he states, picking up in his thrusts as he peppers kisses down Loki’s throat again. He mouths at the place where shoulder meets neck. Where the heritage markings doesn’t touch, the skin unblemished and waiting for another type of mark to take permanent residence. 

“Ah, Thor!” Loki gasps when his brother’s hand wraps around his cock and Thor’s mouth bites deep into Loki’s flesh. 

* * *

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.” Thor mumbles sleepily against Loki’s temple, kissing him softly. His arm tightens around Loki’s middle, pulling him snug against his body and Loki can feel the drag of his brother’s beard on his skin as he smiles.

He yawns, big and exhausted and his purring picks up when Thor noses at the side of his neck, kisses the fresh imprints of his teeth. The vibrations from Loki’s chest haven’t stopped since the bite took hold, their bond formed and secure in the tethering of their seidr. 

“I’d like that.” He murmurs and turns to kiss his mate goodnight.

* * *

The next day when they manage to keep their clothes on for more than five minutes and make their way out the door after two more rounds of mind-blowing tumbles in the sheets and a very recreational long bath in Loki's pool, it's closer to dinner-time ending than they would like to admit. 

They laugh and push at each other on their way to the feast hall. Their path hindered in intervals by one of them pulling the other in shadowy alcoves and kissing until their lips turn dark and, by the time they make it to their destination, more than a few strands of hair have escaped Loki’s complex updo.

Pinned jewels and charms adorn the plaits, keeping the slope of his neck bare. No torcs, no eye-catching jewellery or fine furs obscure his skin today. Loki has made sure it will be obvious for all of the court to see – witness who's got the bond of the King’s most precious warrior. 

Loki, the Runt of Jötunheim will only have the crème de la crème.

The Asgardians are already seated, talking animatedly among themselves. Loki nods in greeting at one of them while some others turn to wave at him. They are all smiles and Baldr stands up, quickly when he notices and approaches the couple of them.

Thor growls from beside Loki and tugs him firmly on his side in an act of obvious possessiveness. Baldr spares him only an annoyed glance. 

"Prince Loki, I'm so glad to be seeing you well, I was terribly worried about you when you didn’t appear for fast or lunch." He says, sending a side-eyed glance Thor’s way and Loki has to keep from laughing at the way his brows dance in perturbation.

"My Prince Baldr, you will see that everything is perfectly fine,” he pauses, smiles devilishly and offers one hand for the Prince to hold. “Now."

Thor’s hand knocks Baldr’s away before it can make contact with Loki’s. He takes a step forward and looms over the Prince, mennancing.

"Hands down Baldr," he says, voice caring out in the suddenly quiet and still hall. "I better not see you get handsy with my mate again or I will leave Mother without a son to love."

Baldr meets his death glare head on, doesn’t back off at this obvious display of aggressiveness. His chest puffs out in a show of courage Loki finds almost endearing – foolish, but admirable. 

"I'd like to see you try, _brother,_ " Baldr says, gritting his teeth and bringing their noses close, challenging. 

"Mate?" Comes Laufey's voice to cut between them from the far end of the room. For the first time in a very long while his voice holds a tinge of something else than dreadful boredom or indifference. Loki cannot exactly put his finger on it, though.

Thor jerks back as if burned. Stands in attention at the booming vibrato of his King. Loki’s somewhat delighted at the way his brother’s expression changes into one of fumbling shock as his brows rise high on his forehead, eyes entirely red in terror, mouth opening and closing without a single syllable escaping. 

"What _mate_ is that you are talking about, Thor? Because I have seen you having your hands wrapped around my son and I don't think your _mate_ would like that." Anger. Low simpering anger is what’s colouring his voice.

A glance at Thor shows him to have lost any semblance of colour on his face. 

Loki rolls his eyes, turns to look at his Father. He smiles cockily and straightens his shoulders as he steps by Thor’s side. "That would be me, Father. _I_ am Thor's mate," he says, loud and clear for all of Utgardr’s residents to hear.

Silence follows this statement of his. 

Laufey’s eyes move from Thor to Loki, fly over his face, travels down the column of his neck and stay on the angry red of the healing bite. "As of when?" Laufey asks, voice eerily flat.

"As of yesterday."

It takes a few stressed moments for Laufey to take his eyes from his son’s neck, glance at his adoptive son and the matching mark peeking from under his cape, then back at Loki, again. A giant blue hand gestures through the air, careless. "How unfortunate, little trickster,” Laufey says and Loki can feel his smile dipping a little at the ominous hint in his voice, “to be left a widow that young of age and that soon after your mating."

"What!" Loki exclaims, taking a instinctual step forward.

Thor’s hand shoots out to hold on his elbow, pull him back. A false move, for Laufey’s eyes fall on the gesture and his lips stretch back in a dangerous grimace. "Laufey-King, please, kindly allow me to-" 

"Thor,” Laufey interrupts, “I remember warning you time and again that if you’d lay a single finger on my son I'd have your entire arm broken, chopped and thrown for the bilgesnipes to eat." 

Loki nearly gasps at this newfound information, looks in surprise from Thor’s terrified face to Laufey’s angry expression.

"Yes, but my King, I can explain-" Thor tries to say, but the King cuts him again.

"Not only did you lay your filthy paws on my precious child, you also went as far as to _mate_ him behind my back. Unheeding of my warnings."

"A terrible misstep from my part, I assure you, my King,” Thor glances momentarily at Loki, smiles a beaming thing full of emotion at him, “but Loki and I are in love and we've been resisting because of your wishes all this time, your majesty." Reaching out his hand, Loki takes one of Thor’s in his, smiling back. Full of wonder and a shocking jumble of emotions in his gut. Their moment is cut short, however; their little bubble of love bursting along with Laufey’s tolerance.

"Run and hide, Odinson," snarls Laufey and stands up slowly.

Loki and his brothers grimace at the use of Thor's paternal name. Thor drops Loki’s hand, takes a step forwards, skin turned such a light blue it looks nearly white.

"Give me a chance to change your-"

" _Run!_ " Laufey roars and in the next beat of Loki’s heart he's jumping nimbly over the table, chasing after a fumbling Thor.

Would you look at that? His father does care for him, in the end. Who would have ever thought.

"This is all your fault, Loki!" Thor yells as he passes before him, sending him a terrified glance. Loki's delighted laughter follows them outside the room.

This is perfect. This is them. And Loki can finally have it all.

This is certainly the best day of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it let me know^^ Happy holidays y'all! ♥
> 
> I'm on Twitter, [@TheAngryKimchi1](https://twitter.com/theangrykimchi1)
> 
> A/N: This will proooobably have a second part sometime in the future and it'll include mpreg and some bottom Thor action , if you aren't into any of that this part can be perfectly read as stand-alone 😉💕


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